


One Night In Lake-town

by windchijmes



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Size Difference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 10:47:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bard finds his gaze drawn to the quiet, golden-haired Dwarf who says nothing but tends to the needs of everyone else. So when the Dwarf asks for dry garments for the Company, Bard obliges and leads the both of them to a store away from his dwelling. There, Fili begins to change into his new clothes, stripping himself and yet again seducing Bard's attention.</p><p>
  <b>(For everyone who watched DoS and is now addicted to the idea of Bard/Fili. You are not alone.)</b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Night In Lake-town

**Author's Note:**

> Fills for these prompts:  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20906751#t20906751  
> http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/9471.html?thread=20937471#t20937471

Bard watches the Company.

Over the years, he’s learnt to trust his instincts. That twinge in his gut that sifts out the truths from the lies and deceit, and guides his hand in making decisions. Yet, he has ignored his instincts this day, and done everything that goes against the better part of his mind. He has picked up a whole company of Dwarves who have not been truthful about their purpose, and continued shielding them against the dangers that lurk in his town. He has taken their money, yes, but more than that, he’s taken their trust.

Thorin Oakenshield. King beneath the Mountain.

This night, the Dwarf leader looks nothing like what the lore had foretold. He is stretched taut with tension and worry. His eyes constantly drift to the youngest Dwarves in his company. Bard has quickly and quietly picked out their names from the snatches of conversations between the Dwarves, and committed them to memory. The dark-haired one, Kili, is trying to grin with a face white with pain. His leg bleeds black from poison, and his movement grows hindered. The brother, Fili, withdraws instead, uttering not a word even as he tends to Kili and heeds instructions from Thorin.

Bard had thought them to be Thorin’s sons until they addressed him _Uncle_. Young, foolish lads, Bard decides to himself. This is no mere cynicism from him. No matter how skilled or valiant, the lads are too untested for what lies ahead, and they are already paying the price for it.

He looks up and sees Fili staring at him with quiet suspicion, as if he knows exactly what goes on in Bard’s mind. There is a strange Dwarf. Bard knows Dwarves to be folks of stone and fire. Stout, barrel-chested and gruff creatures who will defend their interests to the end.

Yet that Dwarf with the unusual golden hair and light eyes goes about his business like a shadow. He draws attention without commanding it, and gives his own without anyone having to ask for it. He is slighter in stature than his kin, yet he holds his own against them, wielding authority with effortless skill. Even more intriguingly, he has likely lived twice as many years as Bard himself, yet he is clearly still a lad with his indomitable spirit.

His gaze unwavering, Fili approaches him. He has to lift his face to accommodate Bard’s much greater height, but his stance speaks of pride, not surrender. “Would you be kind enough to lend us dry garments?” he asks most courteously.

Bard schools his face into neutrality. “You’ll have to follow me to the store. We keep our essentials there to protect them from the wet.”

“Lead the way,” Fili says and moves first to stand by the doorway.

Around them, some of the Company are beginning to notice their exchange. Thorin and Dwalin in particular, seem deeply suspicious. But Fili has clearly made up his mind about it and no one dissuades him. The golden Dwarf now waits by the door, looking at nobody but Bard.

His interest more than a little piqued, the bowman nods and leads them both out of his hut. His children’s safety is always the foremost priority for Bard, yet they feel safer with the Dwarves than with certain denizens of Lake-town. In addition, he has the golden Dwarf within his sights and his last glance at Thorin is also an implicit warning to keep his calm if he wants Fili safe. Bard has no intention of harming the young Dwarf, but he will do whatever necessary to prove his point if he feels threatened.

The store is some ways from his dwelling. There, they keep their dried goods and additional furs and coats to tide them through winter. There are not many; he doubts he can properly clothe the entire Company and they will have to make do with whatever is at hand.

They enter the small structure and whatever Bard is planning to say catches in his throat as he is backed into the door by the knife at his stomach. His own _kitchen knife_ , he dryly notes to himself.

“If you try anything,” Fili says conversationally. “I will gut you.” The goodwill recedes sharply from the Dwarf’s countenance and his eyes are deadly serious.

The bowman narrows his eyes. “What manner is this, menacing your host?”

“You shot at us with your arrows and threatened our lives. I hardly think of myself as menacing,” Fili returns calmly.

“I brought your Company into Lake-town. Intact.”

Fili stares him for a long moment. “Aye,” he says finally, and he slips the knife back into what nook he has hidden in his vest. “So I haven’t gutted you, as you can see.”

Bard feels his lips quirking up in a grim smile. A most brazen young Dwarf, this.

“Our garments. Please,” Fili adds, sliding easily back into his veneer of civility.

And a most intriguing one. Bard has never encountered a Dwarf quite like this creature before him. He nods agreeably, deciding against antagonising the lad. He has no fear of the Dwarf; he has enough fights in his life to know he can hold his ground against him. But the night is long and there are other turns to this situation just yet.

Pulling out a discarded table from a heap, Bard begins his work. He pulls out sacks, undoing them swiftly to rummage through their contents. Whatever he feels will suit the dimensions of Dwarven size, he tosses onto the table. Across the table, Fili eyes the garments with an air of cool appraisal. He selects what appears to be an undershirt, which Bard realises with a start that it is his own. It is worn with age and the colour of dust.

“That’s mine,” Bard tells him, not pausing from his task. “From when I was a boy.”

“Well, clearly you weren’t very tall. It fits me.”

The bowman looks up at that, sees the grin tugging at the corners of Fili’s lips and realises that the Dwarf is _teasing_ him. Bard snorts to himself, not speaking. His gut feels strange now, and he wonders if his instincts are warning him yet again of danger. But there is none. The young Dwarf has made known his intention and as long as this tacit understanding stays clear between them, Bard does not believe Fili would act impulsively. Still, the slow clench does not ease in his belly. It rouses to life like the flickers from a growing flame.

Nonchalantly, Fili begins to undress. He undoes the belt from his waist, lays it aside, and starts on the fur-rimmed coat. That too is removed from his person, and the next layer, and the one after that.

It reminds Bard of the unpeeling of an onion. Strip the layers and down to its soft, tender core. He continues working methodically, but his eyes wander often to that gradually uncovered figure a scant distance away. Already tiny, the store now feels stifling hot.

Fili pulls the last layer off his torso. In the deepening chill of dusk, he is a figure of pale light and quiet shadow. His hair is heavy across his shoulders, and a hundred different shades of gold gleam in its strands. It hangs rakishly now, but it seems to Bard those ornate braids have once seen better days. The same gold is dusted across the Dwarf’s chest, trailing down to his navel, and deeper below, disappearing into his breeches. Without the armament of fabric and weaponry, his form is nonetheless hard with muscle, yet to Bard, possesses a fragility that sets him apart from his kin. His skin is marred with bruises and cuts, not all of them fully healed. What quest this Dwarf is beset with has not been kind to him.

Again, Bard’s eyes track over the Dwarf’s figure, resting finally on the breeches that now cling precariously to defined hipbones. He wonders suddenly – and wretchedly – how they would _feel_ in his hands.

Mouth dry, the bowman sets his teeth resolutely. There is much to worry for his town. With the coming of the Dwarf King and his band, the road ahead is fraught with danger, burdened by bloodshed. He must not linger out here in the growing dark. And be seduced, whether knowingly or not, by a strange, beautiful Dwarf.

_Beautiful._

Bard feels a stab of self-deprecating frustration. It _has_ been too long since he’s felt the warmth of another body. Muttering under his breath, the bowman forces himself to look away.

“Why stop?”

Bard halts in his task.

“You were watching me. Why stop now?”

Is it inherent in Dwarves to be this honest? Bard looks up and finds himself the subject of an azure gaze no less intense than his own. Fili’s head is tilted in question, and he stares up at Bard with a coyness that leaves no doubt of his motive. It is both beguiling and troubling.

Carefully reining in his control with all his willpower, Bard lowers himself to a half-crouch so his gaze is level with Fili’s. “You do not know what you’re asking of me, Fili.”

Astonishingly, that draws a laugh from the Dwarf. “You know my name,” Fili says, and he seems oddly pleased. Then, in a manner that is becoming familiar to Bard now, his mood shifts yet again and he grows solemn. “You think of me as an ignorant boy.”

“Ignorant, yes,” Bard does not lie. And if he does, he is certain Fili will see through it at once. “But a boy, no.”

Fili thinks that over, before deigning to smile. “Neither am I a woman. Though I have been told by some I bear similarities to one. The hair,” he wrinkles his nose in distaste.

“You look like no woman I’ve ever met,” Bard barks out, and feels slightly appalled at his own bluntness.

“I feel most flattered, even if you do not mean it as such,” Fili laughs. His eyes gentle and the promise in them burns that bit brighter. “Do you find me pleasing?” It is that painful earnestness again, and Bard realises with a start that in being that way, Fili willingly lays himself bare. The young Dwarf waits for his response now, doubt beginning to cloud his face the longer the moment drags. His jaw grows tensed from the strain of looking composed.

What flame in Bard’s belly now churns more ferociously than ever; he feels a destructive heat licking through his veins. He should not let himself be drawn into this – carnal pleasures that Bard has denied himself for so long.

His breath quickens and his fingers are beginning to shake where they dig into his palms. “More pleasing than most,” escapes his mouth, defying the warning in his mind. Wretched as it is, he is more than pleased by what he sees. He desires with a helplessness that cripples him now. “ _Fili_ – ” he says, hoarsely, a hand rising to beckon or deny the Dwarf, he does not know.

Fili does not wait. His arms wrap around Bard’s neck, strong and insistent, tugging the man’s head down to his own. It is a strange scent that assails Bard’s nose – that of fire and metal and earthy, growing things – and when their lips meet, the bowman tastes sweet, untarnished sunlight. He rises urgently, hauling Fili up with the movement, neither of them escaping the bruising kiss.

A hand sweeps the piles of old fabrics to the floor, and Fili takes their place on the table. With a long, deep groan, Bard breaks off the kiss, and buries his mouth again into startling soft, tender neck. Little cries vibrate in Fili’s throat with each kiss Bard bites into his skin, and the bowman realises with a fierce spark of lust that Fili is sensitive to his touch.

Eagerly, the lad runs a hand down the opened front of Bard’s coat, and pause at his breeches as if seeking permission. Bard has a mind to voice his assent, but his lips are yet busy discovering the curve of Fili’s shoulder, so he takes that teasing hand, its fingers much shorter yet stouter than his own, and presses it to the front of his breeches. Fili’s grip is strong and sure, cupping his clothed bulge.

“You’re…” it is the _way_ Fili says it. Somewhat sheepish and wry, yet yearning. “ _Large_.”

With a snort, the bowman lifts his head and properly looks at the man propped up on the table. He realises then that Dwarves are capable of bashfulness, if the faintest flush on Fili’s cheeks is anything to go by. Reaching down, he covers Fili’s hand with his own, and slowly grinds his lower body into the Dwarf’s palm. Beneath his breeches, his erection rises and thickens through the cloth. He makes sure Fili feels his arousal and realise how much he desires the golden Dwarf.

“Are you sure, Fili?” he growls against the lad’s mouth.

What sounds like a moan tumble from Fili’s lips. His hand flexes around Bard’s coiled length, goading it harder. “I want this inside me,” his breath is hot against Bard’s cheek.

With a snarl, Bard seizes his lover in another punishing kiss, and leans down hard, crushing Fili into the table. That pretty hair fans across the wooden surface in rivulets of gold. Pulling away, Bard holds himself up with one hand and with the other, begins unlacing Fili’s breeches. His gaze is intense and now given permission to _take_ , he feels only the all-consuming need to possess this flesh laid out before him.

The air is heavy with their mingled pants. Pinned under his gaze, Fili loses none of his cock-sureness. He lifts his hips almost playfully for Bard to shove his breeches down, then spreads himself out to be devoured by Bard’s gaze. His breeches are still trapped at his boots, but he is naked everywhere else. Bared like this, Fili looks even smaller, but his thighs are robust and he is certainly not a _boy_ between his legs. The Dwarf’s half-hard shaft is smaller than what Bard has seen on his fellow Men, but it is thick and heavily-veined. It sways between Fili’s thighs as he shifts sinuously on the table, making the lad look like the very picture of debauchery.

Growling, Bard takes those errant hips in his hands and pinions them to the table. His control is tenuous as it is, without being so wantonly tempted. But he is unable to resist sliding his hands beneath the Dwarf and greedily grasping those firm buttocks. Fili sighs at his touch, and Bard realises just how much he has _misse_ d the feel of supple flesh in his palms.

His fingers reach that cleft and trace its alluring curve, then dipping in – _in_ – until he feels that vulnerable softness inside. Azure eyes fall to half-mast and Fili looks at him with drunken desire. So Bard curls the tip of one finger inside Fili’s entrance just to feel the heat emanating from within, and he groans, almost unconsciously. He needs to be _inside_ that heat. But he has not expected to be entrapped so unexpectedly, and now he is at a loss.

“I do not – ” he mutters, growing gruff as Fili begins to chuckle. “Have anything to – _stop laughing_.”

“The bowman is quick to anger,” the Dwarf teases with a smirk. “Come now, Bard. I am no maiden. I do not need such caution.” With that, he seizes Bard’s wrist and try to tug the bowman’s fingers deeper into himself.

Bard does not care for the lad’s flippancy. Although he has lain with mostly women, his few experiences with men had taught him enough about proper treatment. He remembers now he may have something that would fit his purpose, and he rifles through his pockets, keeping his other hand fondling that pretty arse that is so effortlessly seducing him.

Fili hardly makes it easy for him. Rising onto his elbows, the lad now busies himself pulling open Bard’s shirt and nuzzling into every inch of skin that he uncovers. His hand finally finding tiny pot, Bard twists it open and smears his fingers in the grease inside. He wastes no time, sliding his fingers between Fili’s buttocks and seeking out that delicious heat again.

“More,” Fili demands, and Bard lets him have it, sliding two fingers within the lad. Moaning out loud, Fili sprawls back over the table. It is a most wanton sound, and Bard forces more from the Dwarf as he begins to drag his fingers in and out of that sweet little hole. Bending his head, he fastens his mouth to the lad’s groin, skirting clear of the hardening flesh so near his lips.

“ _Bard_ ,” the Dwarf protests, but he is left whimpering as Bard presses wet kisses over the soft skin, his fingers now opening the lad up with quickening thrusts. Right before his eyes, Fili’s shaft rouses to life, hardening and rising until it strains up towards the lad’s own belly. The thick musky smell of arousal assails Bard’s nose and Fili’s body writhes helplessly under his attentions.

He removes his fingers then, and wrenches his breeches free, his movements unsteady. He is not sure how he manages it, with Fili gripping his hair and yanking him back down, but he manages to coat his manhood with the same grease. Agitated, he gives a few tugs over his erect member, driving his pleasure even keener. And just before he gives in and takes what he so desires, he glances down, his breath almost stopping as he sees his own cock, long and fully hard with arousal, braced between Fili’s arsecheeks. 

The lad looks so vulnerable and open, spread out for him and Bard is undone. He bucks his hips, gritting his teeth as the initial resistance squeezes around his cockhead. Then there is a cry – he knows not if it is his own or Fili’s – and he wedges inside Fili. He bows his head, desperately restraining his lust as molten heat constricts around him, beckoning him inside. It is not vanity that compels him, but he _is_ large to Fili’s much smaller form, and even as frantic as he is, he will not damage his lover.

Only the flutter of lips against his forehead bid him to raise his eyes. “I will not break, Bard. _Don’t wait_ ,” Fili urges, his fingers tightening in Bard’s hair.

“Quiet,” Bard grates out, bracing himself on both hands and overwhelmed with the raging need to _fuck_ into the sweet body beneath his own. He eases in just another inch, and feels another shred of his control lashing free. “I will not – ”

Fili begins to kiss him, demanding caresses over Bard’s chin and jaw. “It doesn’t matter,” he groans breathlessly, a note of pleading beginning to tremble in his voice. “Rip me apart.”

And again Bard does not listen, covering Fili’s mouth with his own to hush him.

Then, it is as if something has snapped.

The Dwarf rears back with a snarl. “Stop treating me like a child,” he hisses with sudden temper. “I don’t care if I break. Just fuck me now like you want to.” His gaze is wild.

Bard stares down at him and now he sees what lurk behind the lad’s eyes – the sorrow and fury and overwhelming fear for his loved ones. They threaten to surface and strip Fili bare of the mask that he wears for the world.

“What is it you ask of me?” Bard says finally.

Fili does not answer at once. And when he does, his eyes slide close. “Stop me from thinking,” he pleads. “ _From feeling_.”

It is with difficulty when Bard moves – still inside Fili yet holding himself back – as he leans down and gathers the smaller form up into his arms. He keeps one hand tangled in Fili’s hair, stilling the lad’s head as he kisses him. There is no love in this, little sentimentality of any kind, but there is an understanding as gentle as it can possibly be between men. Slowly, gradually, Fili softens under the caress, tilting his head back for Bard to deepen the kiss, the tension seeping out of his body.

Now Bard pushes in again, his length burrowing into that tight passage, feeling it succumb to the penetration, not stopping until he is entirely buried inside Fili. _It’s deep_ , sweet moans flow onto Bard’s tongue and he drinks them like a starving man.

Their bodies rock against each other in shallow thrusts, Bard pulling out and pushing back inside excruciatingly slowly. He cups Fili’s buttocks, lifting him up into each lunge, bearing his weight and rendering him a desperate mess as Bard takes him apart with torturous care. The Dwarf tosses his head back, his hair scattering across his own lips, and his cries melt into whimpers as Bard’s thrusts begin to find their mark. Between their heaving, sweating bodies, Bard feels the lad’s cock as a scorching hot column, twitching helplessly as it is rubbed and jostled.

Fili’s eyes are glazed but he lifts a hand to Bard’s face, fingers tracing unsteadily over the bowman’s cheek, nose, then eyes. “Let me comfort you tonight, Bard,” he murmurs.

There is a moment of quiet as Bard thought that _he_ was the one soothing the lad, but he is surrounded by such pleasure, warm as oil and unbearably, maddeningly _good_ , that he stops wondering. A roar now thunders in Bard’s ears, the sound of his own need surging over him.

His hips flex with increasing urgency, and he grows brutal now, pounding into Fili ruthlessly. Again his lips find their way into Fili’s neck, breathing in the lad’s every moan, until his own guttural cries mingle with Fili’s. It takes him almost by surprise. He still remembers Fili’s arms wrapping around him, then he is coming so hard that he can hardly breathe. The lad is pliant in his arms, writhing as Bard shudders, wet and hot, into him.

When he finally lifts himself off Fili, he is ragged and drained. The lad fares little better. His limbs are carelessly spread, a deep flush raised over his skin, and his erection lies heavy and unfulfilled between his thighs, smearing wetness over his own belly. He seems almost mad with want, and Bard does not allow him to think and remember his burden. Holding Fili down with one arm, he grasps the lad’s shaft with his other hand. It pulses in his palm, and needy little cries resound above him.

It has been a long time since he last touched a man in this way. And those occasions were borne of hardship and bleak poverty, not of choice. But Fili is as different from those brutish, paying customers as the man Bard is now from the impoverished lad he was before. He finds that there _is_ pleasure in this act, holding his lover’s vulnerability and desperation in his hand.

Lowering his head, Bard sucks that straining cock into his mouth. It is soft, yet hard on his tongue, and he tastes bitter-saltiness and that untainted purity of Fili himself. On either side of Bard’s head, Fili’s thighs quiver uncontrollably. The lad is sobbing now, of pleasure and other unnamed emotions, his fingers yanking convulsively on Bard’s hair. The bowman does not tease, but intensifies his efforts, suckling the lad’s sweet flesh with lips and tongue and aching thoroughness. Not until he feels Fili’s body growing taut does he pull off, using his hand instead to pump the lad’s slickened cock as it jumps and sputters, coating his skin with ribbons of white.

Exhausted and bleary from his release, Fili lifts his head to be kissed and the bowman obliges readily. It is chaste, a simple meeting of lips. Then, the lad begins to rise from the table, snorting wryly when Bard lifts him up but allowing it just the same.

They find spare cloth and clean themselves of the remnants of their union. They dress without a word and ready the garments that the rest of the Dwarves would need. The silence that reigns over them is palpable, yet strangely comfortable. They do not question each other of the consequences of bedding a Dwarven prince or a Man of Lake-town.

This night is their secret, and their refuge.

And this constricted space a little sanctuary in the midst of roaring death and danger of the world outside.

As Bard lays a hand on the door, he pauses and Fili’s hand covers his own. It lingers for a long moment, and Bard lets it.

“Your children are fortunate to be so loved,” the lad tells him, beautiful in his pensiveness.

Bard turns his wrist and envelopes the lad’s hand completely in his palm. “As is your family and company.”

Fili falls quiet, then he looks up suddenly, his eyes bright. “You will outlive this desolation. I know it. You will see better days yet, and so will your children.”

Something breaks in the bowman’s throat and he lifts the lad’s hand to his lips. “And I will see you crowned. A Son of Durin. Prince of the Lonely Mountain,” he whispers fiercely. He hears Fili chuckle at that, and it lifts the ache from his heart.

He thinks he is permitted to keep Fili’s hand in his grasp just for a moment longer. So he does.

Then they push the door open and step back out into the deep of the night. 

 

 

_finis_

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> If you found this a bit too melancholic, I'd have you know that in my headcanon for this, they BOTH live after BO5A and in the end, Bard marches to the Lonely Mountain to court the golden Prince. But that's another fic for another day. ^^


End file.
